But today the sun felt so good.
Ben turned his ear to the woods. He thought he heard voices. He listened hard, but there was only the muted rush of the highway. Sure he was imagining things, Ben yawned and leaned back, feeling the rising sun on his face. He placed the notes on his chest and folded his hands over them: two notes now, and he was no closer to knowing anything about why Mira was gone.
More than once, Ben had suspected the quarry had a hypnotic effect. He’d seen it in Mira’s eyes as they rolled upward, the way her foot slid down the towel to meet the other. One after the other, the girls, their bodies cooled from swimming, would still. Ben felt heavy. He no longer minded that sharp points dug into his back, didn’t bother to flick away the june bug that landed among the hairs on his wrist. Ben told himself that it was the sun, settling over him like a blanket, that made him fall asleep at the quarry. Nothing else.
Ben’s knee jerked. He settled back again, remembering again the way he had touched Mira for the second time in this exact spot where she had also fallen or maybe leaped but definitely died. He smelled a trace of sulfur, and thought he should stay awake, but the fall from consciousness was delicious. His last thought before sleep was of violet gas rising from the pickle water and himself, flat on the ledge, a stick man, the lines of his body drawn in pencil, clear and colorless, waiting for the gas to meet him. He let himself be heavy as the gas swirled around his head, trunk, and legs, growing a vibrant shade of eggplant as the color filled him.
*
Scoffs and low whistles mingled with footsteps breaking branches.
“I heard the EMTs had to pry them apart. Long wet hair and purple lips. Like Korean water ghosts,” said Louis.
“Ever think of asking me? The one guy who was actually there?” said Kyle.
Voices traveled in the quarry in funny ways. If kids were splashing below, you could have trouble hearing the person next to you, but a conversation three ledges above would sound crystal clear. It was the main reason Piggy got away with saying he did a chick on one of the ledges, because you knew if he hit the acoustics right, the whole event could have been soundless, even if that particular girl had a reputation for being a screamer.
Ben’s eyelids had sunburned into tacky shells. The collar of his T-shirt dug into his neck. He checked his watch: 12:45 p.m. He’d been asleep for five and a half hours. The voices threaded through the thin saplings and grew louder as they made their way up the hill toward Ben.
“Not for nothing, but the quarry’s not normal during the daytime. The way it screws with time. Ghosts from dead bodies down there. It’s got, what do they call it? Bad energy. You ask me, I think the spirits didn’t want those girls messing with their burial ground, and maybe made sure they knew it,” said Piggy.
“Ghosts? You’re saying the Ghosts of Quarry Divers Past pushed them off the ledge?” said Louis.
“I’m saying something got to them, dude,” said Piggy.
“It was a waste of hotness, that’s what it was,” Louis said.
“You should have made your moves faster. Mira was ready, man,” Piggy huffed. “If I had whatever it was she saw in your sorry mug, I would’ve been in months ago.”
On the ledge, Ben’s bowels clenched.
“Instead of having to make moves on the cousin?” said Louis. A chorus of “hey!”s rose up. It was a fine line, talking about the Cillo girls and Connie, even when Eddie wasn’t around.
“I’m just saying. Those girls were like one big lost opportunity,” said Piggy.
“You chuckleheads ever consider Villela might have beat us there? Seriously, shut the f—” Kyle froze, expecting to see Eddie.
Ben rolled up onto his elbow and put his finger to his lips.
Kyle nodded. His widow’s peak fell into wings worn long to cover his bad ear, and his mouth belonged to a little boy, with screwed-up, rosebud lips. Kyle was overgrown for his grade, and preferred to hang with guys from his hood, even if they were two years younger. Girls thought Kyle was cute, with his shambling walk, like he was wearing invisible ski boots.
Kyle spun around and disappeared back into the brush, waving his arms, yelling. “No room up here. Let’s go jump off the other side!”
“If somebody’s squatting, they got no right!” Piggy called.
“That ledge is sacred ground. Tell them to hit the road!” Louis yelled.
Ben shoved Mira’s notes into the waistband of his shorts as he crawled close to the edge, turning toward the water and giving them his long back. The boys shoved past Kyle and charged into the clearing. Piggy spotted Ben first and planted his hands on his thick hips.
“Lattanzi?”
The only sound was june bugs whirring to a fever pitch.
Ben cringed, stinging his sunburn. He spoke out over the water. “I want to be alone.”
Kyle yelled from his place behind. “The dude’s grieving over Mira. Let the man have some peace.”
Louis approached. “What’s he doing here by himself?”
“What does it look like he’s doing here? He’s praying,” called Kyle.
Piggy snickered. “He ain’t praying.”
Ben felt Piggy’s cool shadow on his neck before he swiped the notes from his waistband. Ben spun around wildly.
Piggy waved the notes out of his reach. “What are these? You writing journal entries up here? Communing with nature?”
Ben tried to swipe them back, but Piggy was quick. He waggled them above his head. “Love notes to a dead girl, maybe?”
Ben felt his ears fill with blood. Everything around Piggy turned shimmery and fragmented. Ben shoved Piggy backward.
“Dude, relax! Not for nothin’, but you and Mira Cillo were over way before this all went down,” Piggy said.
Ben pounced on Piggy, taking him to the ground and slamming his skull against the rock, and then sat on his chest. Piggy rolled and Ben fell off, groped his way back on and shook his head like a dog. His fists sank into Piggy’s jowls, the meat of his chest, and the softness of his belly, and every punch was better and better, like Piggy’s body welcomed Ben’s fists, begged to be pummeled and shaped. Piggy had at least twenty pounds on Ben, but he covered his face with his hands. Ben smelled imaginary Old Spice deodorant and stale breath, cigars and Scotch; saw hairs in his opponent’s nose and ears not there as he drove his head back with jabs to his jaw, which had grown from the Pignataro chin that folded up on itself into something sculpted. Piggy raised a knee to Ben’s balls, and Ben rolled off, nearing the edge of the ledge.
“Christ, don’t fall!” yelled Louis.
Ben rolled away from the edge and snapped to his feet, charging at a half-risen Piggy and knocking him to the ground a second time. He loomed and swayed over him, then fell to one knee.
“Lattanzi, that’s it!” said Kyle.